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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665132">Sculpting a Black Widow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryptictaxi/pseuds/thecryptictaxi'>thecryptictaxi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, Origin Story, Red Room (Marvel), but it's the red room what did you expect, indoctrination, not beta read we die like natasha, unethical treatment of young girls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:00:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryptictaxi/pseuds/thecryptictaxi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ladies,” an older woman said from the podium on the stage. “My name is Headmistress Gorokhova, and I welcome you to the Red Room academy.”</p><p>The adults, whom Natalia presumed as teachers, clapped politely. The girls stayed silent.</p><p>“Your parents have sent you here in hopes that you will become something great. Here in the academy, you will learn, practice, and grow to serve Russia,” Headmistress Gorokhova smiled. It seemed unnatural, as if it was forced. “This is a great honor, and everyone here expects your best. Not doing so will result in… consequences.”</p><p>A shiver ran down Natalia’s spine. Why would her parents send her off without telling her?</p><p>“For the first week, you will be judged harshly on your performances. You will be taught arithmetic, languages, science, technology, history, ballet, martial arts, and acrobatics. You will be split into eight groups, twenty-five girls in each group. You lucky two hundred have been selectively chosen for this program. Do not disappoint us.”</p><p> </p><p>[in which the secretive tales of natasha's time in the red room are revealed.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>brief James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, but it's mostly gen - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sculpting a Black Widow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When six year old Natalia Alianovna Romanova woke up, the first thing she felt was confusion. The curtains in her room generally let in a lot of light, but it was completely dark. The bed she was lying in was unfamiliar as well. It was small, hard, and creaky, very much unlike the big, plush bed she had gone to sleep in. </p><p> </p><p>The next emotion Natalia felt was panic. She tried getting up, but metal handcuffs chained her to the bedpost. She tugged with no positive results. She whimpered as the cuffs dug into her wrists.</p><p> </p><p>The panic slowly morphed into fear. She was all alone in this strange room, with her hands cuffed to the bedpost. She also needed to go to the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” she heard a timid voice say.</p><p> </p><p>There was no response. Natalia stayed quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?” she called out again. “Hello? Is somebody there? Can you help me?”</p><p> </p><p>Without replying, Natalia tugged against her restraints again, eyebrows scrunched up in determination. Her small hands fumbled around the lock. She didn’t have a key, so how was she going to get out? She leaned sideways in an awkward position and caught the lock with her teeth. She bit down, but gave up quickly when the hard metal hurt her mouth. She twisted around and pulled at the cuffs. Her sides and wrist hurt, but she paid no attention to the pain. She wanted to get out.</p><p> </p><p>Mid-pull, the door to the room slammed open and the light was flicked on. Natalia’s green eyes blinked quickly, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The room was much bigger than she imagined, and there were many other girls in beds. Their hands were cuffed to their bedposts, as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Miss, please help me!” The voice from earlier belonged to a brown-haired girl a few beds down from Natalia. </p><p> </p><p>“What am I doing here?” Another girl said.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to go home!”</p><p> </p><p>They were all promptly ignored.</p><p> </p><p>The young woman who had opened the door began freeing the girls from the handcuffs, one by one. And one by one, the girls got into a line. As she freed Natalia, she said in a low voice, “Get in line and don’t ask questions. If you do, you will be punished.”</p><p> </p><p>She did as asked of her. After all, her father had always told her to listen to the adults and behave. Nervously, Natalia made her way to the line and stood behind a tall girl. She fidgeted, needing to use the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>“Follow me,” the woman said when she finally unlocked the last pair of handcuffs. </p><p> </p><p>She led the long line of girls down long, narrow hallways and climbed up and down several flights of stairs. They passed many large doors and small windows. They were ushered along, unable to take a good look at anything. Natalia’s feet hurt, and her bladder ached. Nonetheless, she followed obediently.</p><p> </p><p>The line of girls were soon led into a large room. Many other girls were already seated in metal folding chairs, and she was prodded to sit down, too. She raised her hand to ask if she could go to the bathroom, but the adults ignored her. </p><p> </p><p>There were voices of little girls ringing out from all parts of the room. Even the two girls next to her were talking in hushed voices, wondering why they were there, and where their parents were. Natalia remained silent. She was too scared to talk, and all she wanted was to go home to her mother.</p><p> </p><p>“Ladies,” an older woman said from the podium on the stage. “My name is Headmistress Gorokhova, and I welcome you to the Red Room academy.”</p><p> </p><p>The adults, who Natalia presumed as teachers, clapped politely. The girls stayed silent.</p><p> </p><p>“Your parents have sent you here in hopes that you will become something great. Here in the academy, you will learn, practice, and grow to serve Russia,” Headmistress Gorokhova smiled. It seemed unnatural, as if it was forced. “This is a great honor, and everyone here expects your best. Not doing so will result in… consequences.”</p><p> </p><p>A shiver ran down Natalia’s spine. Why would her parents send her off without telling her?</p><p> </p><p>“For the first week, you will be judged harshly on your performances. You will be taught arithmetic, languages, science, technology, history, ballet, martial arts, and acrobatics. You will be split into eight groups, twenty-five girls in each group. You lucky two hundred have been selectively chosen for this program. Do not disappoint us.”</p><p> </p><p>The deathly silence was interrupted by a wail. “I want to see my mama!”</p><p> </p><p>Mutters began filling up the room. The girls looked around nervously, as if they knew something bad was about to happen.</p><p> </p><p>“Silence!” Headmistress Gorokhova barked. “You! The girl who dared to speak up. What is your name?”</p><p> </p><p>“V-vanka,” the girl whispered uncertainly. </p><p> </p><p>The headmistress held up her hand and gave some sort of signal, to which a burly man grabbed Vanka by the arm and dragged her out the large wooden doors. She kicked and screamed all the way.</p><p> </p><p>Natalia squirmed in her seat.</p><p> </p><p>“Vanka has been sent off,” Headmistress Gorokhova said. “She will face her consequences. The same will happen to you if you do not cooperate.” She stared at the rows of young girls, scrutinizing. “Go make Russia proud.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a shuffling of chairs, and then the girls were led away in groups. They were taken through the narrow halls and corridors and back to the room in which they woke up.</p><p> </p><p>“Clothes and undergarments have been set down on your beds,” the young woman said. “There is a pair of uniforms and night clothes, as well as clothing for physical exercise. Change into the exercise uniforms and ballet slippers and form a line for the bathroom. Your names are written on your beds.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia went off in search of her name. She found it easily, but she noticed that some girls wandered, not knowing how to read. She also noticed that the young woman continuously jotted something down on her clipboard. </p><p> </p><p>The uniform set on her bed was a bulky thing. It was a complete outfit, with a white polo shirt, a vest, tights, a long black skirt, and shoes. There was also a white tank top with red shorts. Next to it was a pair of leathery nude flats. She looked around hesitantly, then changed and got in line.</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of Natalia’s eyes, she could see the woman writing something down on her clipboard again. For the first week, you will be judged harshly on your performances, Natalia remembered. But how was changing into clothes a performance?</p><p> </p><p>When all the girls were in line, the woman spoke up again. “In the bathroom, relieve yourselves. Take a hair ribbon from the basket and tie your hair up into a bun.”</p><p> </p><p>A hesitant hand raised up into the hair. “I don’t know how to tie my hair.”</p><p> </p><p>“I expect that you will learn in time,” the woman said. “Now, hurry up. We don’t have all day.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia relieved herself with a thankful sigh, then scrubbed her hands. She took the red hair ribbon and tried as best as she could and tied it off hastefully, but it was nothing like the buns her mother had done. Some of the other girls had done even a worse job than her, so she supposed the scary headmistress wouldn’t be too angry.</p><p> </p><p>She stood still in line, waiting for instructions. Without speaking, the woman took the girls into a studio. It had mirrors on every wall, and there were horizontal wooden sticks in the center.</p><p> </p><p>The woman left, and was soon replaced by someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome, ladies,” the new person said. “My name is Madame B, your ballet instructor.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Madame B took them through a quick stretching routine. It was nothing Natalia couldn’t handle. The girls were told to memorize the routine by the next lesson. </p><p> </p><p>Then, Madame B took the girls to, what she called, the barre. They were shown a combination of tendus and pliés. The words were foreign to Natalia.</p><p> </p><p>“Tendu, plié, up and to the side. Tendu plié up. Back, tendu plié up. Side, tendu plié up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Olga, chin up and look proud,” Madame B said. “Sasha, closer to the barre! Round your arms. Natalia, keep your arms up and get that frown off of your face. You are not just pretty little girls anymore. You are ballerinas, and ballerinas do not get tired! And don’t sickle your foot.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia’s arms drooped with every passing second. She clenched her eyes shut and raised them again, trying to get them into that round pose Madame B showed her.</p><p> </p><p>“Longer, ballerinas. Lengthen your body, allongé. Pretty faces. Stop scrunching up your nose. Keep that pose, Luba. Tania, stomach in and back straight. Don’t sickle your foot, I will not repeat myself again. Natalia! Arms up.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia’s arms burned. She needed a quick break. Just a few seconds. She dropped them by her sides and heaved in and out. Before she could say anything, Madame B strode over to her and landed a slap against her cheek. </p><p> </p><p>Natalia let out a cry of pain and surprise, clutching her face. </p><p> </p><p>“Did I tell you to stop?” Madame B bellowed. “Stop crying. Answer me. Did I tell you to stop?”</p><p> </p><p>“N-no, ma’am,” Natalia hiccuped, tears streaming down her face. </p><p> </p><p>“Why did you stop?”</p><p> </p><p>“My arms hurt,” Natalia whispered, ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry, Madame B.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pain is not an excuse for a break,” Madame B said. “Ballerinas do not feel pain. Say it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ba-ballerinas do not feel pain.”</p><p> </p><p>“Again!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ballerinas do not feel pain.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ballerinas do not feel pain,” Madame B said. “Go back to first position.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia wiped the tears off of her face and hurried to get in first position. She resumed the combination. With a satisfied cluck of her tongue, Madame B signalled for the girls to stop. </p><p> </p><p>“New steps, ladies. Let’s try relevé.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>can you tell i that had to forcefully drag my repressed memories of five years of unpleasant ballet training from the back of my brain?</p><p> </p><p>my <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/inner-egg-pong">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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